


Brass Door Handle

by hito_ritabi



Series: lingEr [5]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M, Restaurants, Waiting, patient
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-22
Updated: 2014-10-22
Packaged: 2018-02-22 04:16:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2494100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hito_ritabi/pseuds/hito_ritabi





	1. Chapter 1

Include 1/3: A **brass door handle** , a silver bell, and some peppermint candy.

Hiero stared at it, the door before him, the plain wooden door of no significant standing, yet it was a huge hindrance to Hiero. He was sitting on a stool at a bar in a tavern during the day, it was dim inside, the light and wood making everything seem colored a crimson-like-auburn shade. The only other person inside was a young woman who was sweeping the floors of dirt, dust, hay and whatever else might be in there. From behind the bar was a window to a kitchen, where the smells of garlic, thyme, nutmeg and pumpkin was wafting to Hiero's nose.

 

But this door, that was the problem.

 

Hiero shifted on the stool, trying to get more comfortable. Before him on the bar he had folded up his cloak, and at his feet rested his small leather bag. The woman was starting to sweep closer to him, the brushing noise distracting Hiero from his otherwise present concern.

 

“Let me put that up for a minute, dear,” she said, leaning down to pick up his sack. Hiero nodded his chin, but refused to look away from the door. When her head blocked his view, Hiero tilted to the edge of the chair, peering around her to see if the door would alter in some way.

 

She started sweeping up around his feet, Hiero not even bothering to lift them since they didn't touch the floor anyway. Then she continued sweeping, working her way around the other eight stools.

 

The sound of a door opening came to Hiero's ears, but it wasn't the door he was fixated on. In the kitchen sounded heavy boots, squishing and wet from walking outside in the mud that accumulated from the rain.

 

Any moment now, Hiero thought, trying to force his spine to relax so he could sit more comfortably. When he noticed that wasn't working, he placed a hand on the bar's edge and lifted his body up, curling his left leg up under his butt and sat down on it. He left his hand on the bar a second to manage his balance before returning it to his lap. The wood of the stool was cold to his calf, the fabric of his pants stopping just after his knee. He felt the sensation of his shoe on his right foot slipping, air gasping toward his arch. Once more replacing his hand onto the bar, Hiero shifted his right leg up, placing the heel firmly at the edge of his butt, barely having enough room on the stool to sit steadily.

 

“Would you like to try a taste?” came a woman's voice. This voice was warm, mature, and came with a noxious cloud of pumpkin-garlic-salt-vinegar. Hiero wouldn't look at her though. She was standing on the kitchen-side of the bar, watching him. “You look cold. Here.” and she placed a porcelain bowl onto the bar's surface. Hiero only momentarily glanced at the dish when he heard the sound of metal hitting the wood; a large spoon was set down next to the bowl. “That'll warm ya right up.” She smiled at him, though Hiero was already looking back to the door and was paying her no mind. “Eat up, or you'll catch cold.”

 

Hiero lightly shook his head, “No thanks.”

 

“Now don't be shy,” she coaxed him. “The boy only told you to stay put. He didn't say anything about not eating and getting comfortable while you wait.” Hiero's blue eye adjusted its position, sliding back over to look at her face and then down to the bowl of pumpkin soup. “You'll be sorry if you wait until it gets cold.” She said as she turned away and started back toward her huge cooking pot in the kitchen.

 

Hiero looked to the bowl, and then to the door. Using the tips of his fingers, so as not to get burned by the heat, Hiero shifted the bowl forward on the bar so he could remain facing the door. He picked up the spoon and began to the eat the soup. He kept his eyesight fixated on the door, only glancing down to see if the spoon was breaking the soup's surface every now and then.

 

By the time he was nearing the base of the bowl, the brass handle of the door rocked down and then up, opening the door.


	2. Chapter 2

Include the 2 you didn't use: A brass door handle, a  **silver bell** , and some  **peppermint candy** .

 

Hiero's attention jolted to the door as he saw it open. Cold air came flooding into the warm tavern. The person at the door was drenched, a leather sack on his back, his free arm covering his face as the rain pelted him sideways, coming in with him. The young man turned around, once inside and slammed the door shut, clicking the handle so it wouldn't get knocked by the wind.

 

Remembering his strict instructions to stay put, Hiero didn't move from the stool. But he leaned forward, waved his free arm excitedly and called to the man, “Cyril! Cyril!”

 

Under his breath, the man scoffed with amusement. Hiero really was like a little kid sometimes. He lifted his head, shook off his wet arm and slung his bag off his shoulder all in one swift movement. Groaning as he walked toward the bar, Cyril dragged the bag behind him.

 

The woman who had been sweeping was glaring at him. “You just tracked in a ton of mud and got the floor all wet!” she scolded him firmly, walking right up to his face, wagging the end of the broom-handle in his face. “Stay right there!” came her curt order as she turned on her heel. “I'll be right back.”

 

Cyril raised a brow at her, a disgruntled look on his face. “What's got her so ticked?” he asked, dropping his wet bag on a stool one away from Hiero.

 

“She'd just finished sweeping the floors.” Hiero supplied, putting his legs down. Cyril nodded, making a noise of awkward acknowledgment as he shifted onto the stool right by the boy. “Did you go far?”

 

“Not very,” he shook his head, looking to the bowl that was in front of him to see what was left. He picked up the spoon and started eating the remnants. “This is good.”

 

“What'd you get?”

 

Cyril made a noise telling Hiero to wait, or shut up. He had food in his mouth; couldn't Hiero be decent enough not to ask questions when there was food in his mouth? Swallowing, Cyril shifted over to his bag, flipped open the flap from the top and loosened the lid. Hiero leaned toward the bar, trying to peek at whatever Cyril was rifling around with. He heard the distinct metal tinkling of a bell rattling around as Cyril fished it out.

 

“This,” Cyril said rather finally. He dropped the bell next to the bowl on Hiero's side.

 

Hiero dropped low, putting his chin on the bar so he could look at it closer. “A silver bell?”

 

“Yep.” Cyril nodded. He smirked a bit as Hiero's brows furrowed and frown came onto his face.

 

“Aw,” said the boy, “I wanted something more... Foodie.”

 

“Foodie?”

 

“Here, mop this up.” came the woman. She walked over to Cyril's shoulder, making him turn away from the bar. She handed him a pole and gestured to the muddy track he had left from the door to his seat. “Do it now while it's still fresh. It'll be easier to get out of the floorboards.”

 

Then she walked away, turning to go into the kitchen. As Cyril got up, pushing the bucket of warm water by not removing the mop from it, the two could hear the women discussing spice ideas for a stew they were planning with the main ingredient being pork.

 

“Can we stay and eat that?” Hiero asked, rolling his head so his ear pushed against the wood, looking to Cyril.

 

“We'll probably have to pay for it,” Cyril replied. He started at the stool, slipping out of his boots and tried to rub the mud off of them by rubbing them against the mop itself.

 

Hiero watched him in silence for a moment. He studied Cyril's damp hair, his wet jacket and back, and wondered if he was feeling cold.

 

A moment later, Cyril straightened up suddenly from mopping, “Oh yeah, dig in my bag. There should be a small yellow paper bag.”

 

Hiero shifted up, and reached for the bag. He had to move to the other stool to properly look through. He found the paper bag near the top, nestled toward the back of the bag. Opening it, because Cyril didn't say he couldn't do that, Hiero peeked inside to see four small white drops that smelled very minty.

 

“Oooooh,” he perked up, smiling from ear to ear. “Peppermint candy! Can I have one? Can I have one? Just one? Please?”

 

Cyril rolled his eyes, “Who else do you think I got them for? But leave me one.”

 

“Yaaay!” Hiero yipped, and darted his hand in to snag a candy.


End file.
